Calling All You Angels
by SereneCalamity
Summary: After the week he's had, Jughead just needed to get home. Bughead. Oneshot.


_I was inspired to write this one by the song that the title came from,_ Calling All Angels _by Train._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the title._

Forsythe Pendleton Jones III took in a deep breath as parked his motorbike in the driveway of his home. It felt as though he had been away forever, even though it had only been just over a week. But it had been a long week, and Jughead felt drained and exhausted and his body was aching. He had a couple of bruises, and he knew that the fact he had a split lip was going to get brought up, but right now, he really just needed to get into his house. Into his home.

Jughead turned off his bike and swung his leg over the seat. He took off his helmet and unhooked his bag from where it was strapped to the back, slinging it over his shoulder and tucking his helmet under his arm as he walked toward the house. The afternoon sun was warm, but it wasn't uncomfortably hot as it beat down on the dark haired man, who's hair was a little matted from being under a helmet all afternoon back and who's leather _Serpents_ jacket was stretched over his broad shoulders and muscular biceps. He got to the top of the steps, and noted the mess on the front porch, which wrapped around half the house.

There were about six pairs of shoes, all in a messy pile, a pair of pink, sparkly fairy wings, a barbie doll who was missing all her clothes, a red and blue Tonka truck and then—strangely enough—a cookie cutter in the shape of a butterfly. Jughead unlaced the motorcycle boots that he was wearing and added them to the pile by the door. He picked up the toys from the porch and awkwardly carried them in his arms, along with his bag and the motorbike helmet, and opened up the front door.

"Betty?" Jughead called as he looked around. The front door opened right into the lounge, which was tidy, a dark coloured lounge suite, a TV mounted on the wall, pictures hanging on the walls and a large doll house in the corner of the room. Jughead dropped his bag on the ground, and then unloaded the rest of the contents of his arms into one of the arm chairs. He straightened up and arched his back, hearing it click a few times, and wincing.

He had been away for the past week with the rest of the _Serpents_ , spending most of that time on their bikes, given the town that they had been heading to was over two days ride, there and back. They had been called to help with one of their MC allies with a rival MC who had been moving in on their territory, causing problems in their town. The other MC, the _Phantoms_ , were dangerous—not that the _Serpents_ , or their allies the _Reapers_ weren't—but they didn't seem to hold any regard for who they were hurting. They were selling guns and weapons to anyone with money, and there were innocent people dying because of it. The police hadn't been able to do much, given how well MC's had learnt to cover their tracks, and so that was where the _Serpents_ had come in.

They had gone to morgue, to see the damage that had been caused, and Jughead and his best friend, Archie Andrews, had both seen red as they had seen the bodies of two young children who had been caught in the crossfire.

It had only taken the _Serpents_ and the _Reapers_ three days to track down the MC, to find out who their supplier was and swiftly make sure that they never sold to the _Phantoms_ again, and then they had crippled the _Phantoms_ fatally.

It wasn't the first time that Jughead had taken a life, and he doubted that it would be the last, but that didn't make it any easier. He knew that what they were doing was for the greater good, but there were still going to be some long nights ahead of him. Unfortunately, it wouldn't just be the MC members bodies that were going to be replaying in his head, but also the dead bodies of the innocent people in the morgue, and those were what assured him that they had done the right thing.

The _Serpents_ definitely weren't the most upstanding of citizens, and they didn't pretend to be, but they were able to do things that the police couldn't do.

Jughead tried to push the events of the past few days out of his head, because they left a bad taste in his mouth and when he came home, he liked to be present—he _needed_ to be present. That was the only thing that kept him sane.

Jughead walked through the lounge and into the kitchen. There were a plate of cookies that were cooling on a rack in the centre island, all in different butterfly shapes, and he was guessing that was somehow how the cookie cutter ended up outside. He smiled as he heard a yell from outside and picked up the pace, ignoring the twinge in his leg that had come from a graze of a bullet. It had been stitched up and it was absolutely fine, but there was no way that he was going to reveal the fact he had nearly been shot _again_ —on top of the fact that he had already actually been shot three times—until they were alone and she didn't have anything breakable in her hands.

He walked through the back door of the house, which opened out onto the end section of the porch, and he paused for a moment at the top of the steps as he looked down at his family.

His wife, Elizabeth Cooper-Jones, was sitting on the grass, wearing a halterneck light blue dress, that had little white dots over the bodice and skirt and ended just above her knees, with her long blonde hair loose and falling over her bare shoulders. She was sitting on the ground, facing away from him, and beside her was their son, Liam Jones, who was almost six months old. His dark hair was getting longer, hanging in front of his eyes—Betty had been talking about getting him his first haircut soon, but Jughead wasn't sure he could agree to that just yet, it was like admitting that his son was growing up, and he wasn't ready for that.

And on the swing set next to the colourful wooden playground that Jughead and Archie had put together a few months was Malia Jones. She was going to be six in just a few months, and her long, blonde hair was flying in the air as she swung back and forth.

She was the first one to see Jughead.

"Daddy!" Malia cried out, quickly sticking out her feet and grounding them into the wood chips below her to slow her down, and then sprung from the swing.

"Be careful, sweetie!" Betty called out as she turned around to look back toward the house, where Jughead was jogging down the steps, meeting his daughter halfway.

"Hey, Lia!" Jughead greeted her, his smile so wide that it was almost breaking his face in half as he picked her up, swinging her in the air, her little feet with purple jandals flying around before he brought her back in to his body, wrapping his arms tightly around her and hugging her close. Malia was practically vibrating with excitement, and after just a split second of giving him a hug, she pulled back, bracing her hands on his chest as she began talking at a mile a minute.

"Did you see the cookies? We made cookies! And we used my butterfly cutters—the ones that Aunty Jellybean got me! They're chocolate chip—but mummy said that you would be okay if we put hundreds and thousands in as well, so we did! Liam didn't really help," Malia scrunched up her nose adorably, looking so much like her mother it was uncanny. "He ate some of the mixture, but he mainly drooled all over the wooden spoon." She paused to take in a deep breath and it looked like she was about to break out in another spiel before Betty laughed.

"Why don't you go and get daddy some of those cookies, aye?" She said as she stood up, Liam perched on her hip. He was holding tightly onto a hunk of material that Jughead didn't pay much attention to, given most of his attention was still on his daughter.

"Okay! I'll get you a cookie!" Malia held up her hand, holding up one finger. "Do you want one, or two?" Another finger popped up, waving the digits playfully in Jugheads face. He caught her hand, kissing her fingers and the palm of her hand.

"Get me two, baby," Jughead told her with a smile, releasing her hand and lowering her gently to the ground.

"Do you want one, mummy?" Malia asked, looking up at her mother as Betty joined them.

"I'm okay, sweets," Betty said with a serene smile as she ran her fingers through Malia's hair before the girl took off at a sprint. "Careful!" Betty called out, repeating her earlier sentiment, before shaking her head and looking up at Jughead. "She's going to be terrible once she gets behind the wheel of a car—or worse, on a bike." Jughead let out a laugh and then made a face.

"Don't even talk about things like that, I'm still not ready to accept the fact she's at school," Jughead admitted. Betty grinned and then reached up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. It was only a split second, but it made Jughead pause and his eyes closed for a moment as he drew in a breath. She was always the one that centered him—Betty and his children, they were the ones that reminded him that the world was beautiful and good, even if he was faced with all sorts of ugly and nasty things in his life.

"Wanna give daddy a kiss?" Betty cooed to Liam, and he giggled and pursed his lips together.

"Hey, buddy," Jughead grinned as he gave his son a kiss, ruffling his hair. His cheeks were rosy and Jughead rubbed his rough thumb gently against one of them. "He teething again?" Jughead asked his wife, wondering how many nights of disrupted sleep Betty had had in the past week when he had been away. She hadn't mentioned anything to him when they had spoken on the phone, but that was just Betty. She never wanted him to worry, or feel guilty when he was away, because she knew that he was hard enough on himself.

"It's okay," Betty replied with a shrug and a smile.

"Babe—" Jughead was cut off by Malia's yells.

"I got the cookies!" She announced as she ran back out of the house, holding the two cookies above her head. Jughead grinned as he turned around to face the little girl. She held them both out to Jughead. "Mummy—can I take Liam to the sandpit?" She asked eagerly.

"Sure thing, sweets," Betty answered as she followed Malia's bouncing steps over to the sandpit, which was adjoining with the swing set. Jughead trailed after them, a few steps behind so that he could take them in. Betty was born to be a mother, she was so patient and loving with their two children. She didn't snap, even when Malia was wound up so much that she was bouncing off the walls and making a mess with every breath she took, breaking things all over place and Liam was colicky or teething, and keeping them up all hours of the night.

Sometimes he had no idea how he got so lucky.

Jughead waited as Betty settled Liam in the sand, and Malia sat next to her brother, one arm and one leg propped behind him to ensure that he was steady and not going to tip over. Once Betty was sure that he was safe, she stepped out of the sandpit and pressed up against Jugheads side. He wrapped an arm around her waist and turned her around so that they were pressed together, her head against his chest. They were quiet for a few minutes before Betty pulled back, reaching up a hand to rest it against Jughead's cheek.

"Are you alright?" She asked him softly. Jughead stared down at her, and for a moment, his mind flashed back to his activities of the past week. The broken bodies of the innocent people that those weapons had killed, and then the blood that had stained his hands just a few nights before.

"I'm here with all my angels," Jughead told her evenly, as he stared down at Betty. "I'm perfect." He took in her bright blue eyes, her full pink lips, the slight flush on her cheeks at his sappy words, her scent—a mixture of jasmine and lilac, a perfume that Jughead had gotten her for her birthday a few months ago that Veronica Lodge had helped him pick out—and then he leaned forward to kiss her again, this time a lot longer, and a lot slower than the peck that she had given him when she had first approached him. Betty's whole body melted into his, just like it always did.

She was soft where he was hard muscle, and she was curved where he was angles, and she smoothed over all his edges with just a brush of her hands over his cheeks and down his shoulders. She knew all the things he did, he never kept anything from her—hushed conversations when they were laying in bed after their children were asleep, and her eyes filled with tears as she cried for him and what he had been through because he couldn't. She knew all the bad things that he had seen—all the bad things that he had _done_ —and she still loved him with every ounce of her being.

"I love you," Betty murmured as their lips parted, and Jughead cupped her face in his hands, pressing one last kiss to her lips, and then on the tip of her nose, and then on her forehead, before he turned back to look and their children. With his wife wrapped up in his arms and Malia's laugh echoing around the backyard and Liam's playful gurgle joined in, Jughead felt the last bit of tension seep from his body.

"I love you too," he whispered in reply.

 _Bit of a sappier one. Haha. Let me know what you guys think x_


End file.
